


Damara: Give your kismesis what he never asked for

by oncewewerezombies



Series: Homesmut fills : Box of Bad [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Humiliation, Multi, Overstimulation, Rope Bondage, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Slurs, Spitroasting, Threesome - F/F/M, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5309372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bonus: the sequel nobody fucking asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damara: Give your kismesis what he never asked for

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Damara: Use bucket](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5072017) by [oncewewerezombies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies). 



> I am a bad person. *jazz hands*

What you believe your spade truly wants is to be punished. He wants to be pushed, he wants to be shown how loathsome he is. Otherwise, why would he have picked you? He was the one who had sought you out, not the other way around. You had never really thought of Kankri as a kismesis until he was there, night after night, preaching at you, vocalising shitful nonsense, and not _leaving you alone_. No matter how vulgar and vile you were, he was there, preaching, right until you shut him up with a punch to the mouth with your mouth. It had been your last ditch effort to make him go away.

He’d almost curled into you when you did that, he had wanted it so badly. You think the reason he picked you to antagonize, sometimes, is that you do not have the verbal acrobatics needful to argue with him on a level that he would be patronizingly willing to accept as proper debate in a language he understands and instead drag him into a very physical gutter out of pure frustration with his arrogance. He needs to be reminded that he is not just words and air, he is physicality and dirt too. Shit and blood and slurry, like any troll. You wish you could make him argue with you in Eastern Beforan; you would both see who the stupid one was then. It would be him. His stupid mouth, tripping over words he didn’t know the full meaning and context of, his slippery tongue twisting around unfamiliar consonants and tones. Not you. Not then.

So. You will give him what he wants. You will give him everything his secret whore self requires, what it desires most. That desperate needy part of him, the bit he lies about with every patronizing, self-aggrandizing word. The part where he is just a troll, like any other troll, needy, pailhungry, desperate, and _oh so lonely_. He is the worst liar; you hate liars. You hate deception. You don’t bother lying any more...well. Not unless you are fucking with Rufioh and Horuss and it is no less than they deserve. They deserve everything nasty you do to them and more (it is strictly platonic, you would only pail one of them if it was the thing needed to break them, you are faithful in your quadrants and Kankri is your loathsome pitch desire). You will make Kankri truthful about at least one thing, and you will destroy him if he will not grow.

You have a plan.

This is your plan in action. You do not think any Alternian would allow their kismesis to tie them up like this, but Kankri is stupid dumb. Rocks in his head and shit for brains, so arrogantly sure of his right to his own safety and well being in any situation. You have bent him backwards over a stool and knotted into place with your rust-red ropes, his knees wide and head just supported by the edge but still at bulge-height. Not that it really matters if all his freak blood pools in his head because of course, you’re both dead, but you do want him a little sensible. Not dazed and body trying to convince him he is dying all over again. You want him _alert_ \- well, a little alert.

You have cut a slit in the crotch of his stupid leggings, his ugly sweater you stripped off him as soon as he entered your hive. The sweater is an offence on your eyes. You hate it almost as much as you hate him. Maybe you will burn it. Tonight he says you appropriate your own culture’s clothes and that it is damaging to non-Eastern Beforan trolls that you wear your seifuku, he is obviously insane and angling for a smack down from his kismesis. Good. That is what you have in mind. 

You swing your leg idly as you sit by him, ignoring him for now as you catch up on kitty-bitch’s trollr. He is starting to trill; it’s much nicer than the harangue on your cultural appropriation of your own culture he was trying to get you to pay attention to before. She has written some interesting RTF featuring Kurloz and Rufioh for hearts quadrant. You would have picked black yourself, but you are not sure if Rufioh could manage the spine to be a proper kismesis to anyone; at least Kankri challenges you verbally. You leave concrit regarding the size of Rufioh’s bulge and his favourite acts on the concupiscent platform. There is no reason that inaccuracies should be allowed to stand, especially if you can embarrass pixie boy by adding in your little spiteful notations to be circulated among your hatefriends. And you know Meulin will be grateful. You do wonder what Kurloz’ opinion on the things she writes is. You imagine animated gifs of swearing; lots of swearing. It cheers you almost as much as Kankri’s helpless chirps and the way he is not actually saying anything anymore.

The human toy you have inserted into Kankri’s nook through the slit you cut in his pants and anchored with a twist of rope continues to hum mindlessly.

Humans have left interesting little pockets in between the troll dream bubbles. They have some nice things. Some good vids. You enjoy the human East Beforan-duplicate pailing animations the best, especially if they have screaming schoolgirls and millions of tentacles. They are so dirty. Humans have much more fun pailing than trolls. You still think their genitals are stupid, you can’t imagine not having both a bulge and a nook but their bucket film artistry is top class if you can get past the stupid interlocking monosexual parts. What would you fuck Kankri with to shut him up if you didn’t have your bulge?

He is coals and deathly sun itself inside and you find yourself smug when you think about how you proved yourself right. Once you slid your bulge up his nook and pailed him properly, he has shown himself to be a complete and utter bulgeslut. You still haven’t let him into your nook – you penetrate, you are active, he is submissive, passive. As though he is still keeping his vow of celibacy somehow if you are the only one doing anything, wanting anything. It is not healthy, and you know it, but. His vow is so dumb. So horseshittingly dumb. Also he seems to get off on being violated, and that is...interesting to play with. You find yourself striking harder and harder to get the kismesis you can see in him, _out_. You want him to be better, to strive against you, you want a proper rival. You hate him so much for denying you this one true thing when he was the one to start the whole nippletwisting situation in the first place.

Life was not fair. Death is not fair. Nothing is fair and everything is terrible.

You chew your lip, thinking, and then get up. It is time for the next part of your plan. You pat Kankri’s stomach, not that he is going to really hear you anyway. His bulge is still trapped behind his leggings, all you’ve done is stimulate his nook and it is not in a way a troll nook would ever find fulfilling. The human toy moves all wrong; you should know, you tried it out first before you put it in your kismesis. He is never going to cum and all he will do is wait uselessly on a plateau right before orgasm. Good. 

“私 戻って 来ます, slut. Have fun. 俺 あなた の 贈り物 取得 する つもりです.”

Your first thought when you were thinking about this scenario was Cronus. The slime fish is desperate, he is so needy, he would have done anything if it meant he had a chance at filling a pail and he was already interested in Kankri as it was. But he makes your nook as dry as a desert and your bulge curl back so hard into its sheath that it inverts; that stupid fake-human thing mostly. Stupid gross cigarette that he never lights, what is the point of having it all soggy in his mouth, it’s platonically disgusting. Besides, he couldn’t be trusted to keep anything to himself, especially not if he finally got to fill a pail and so far, you have avoided Porrim unleashing her strife specibus on you in a fit of unreciprocated pale longings because of your kismesissitude with the mutant. Aranea was out for the same reason; her mouth is almost more of a vomiting load gaper than Kankri’s and you can really only stand that in your kismesis because you can always fill his mouth with your bulge. 

Meenah. Meenah is. No. Meenah was not on your list of possibilities. You want her double death almost more than you want anything else, you could not share a pail with her. Horuss you have shared with unwillingly and unknowingly and you won’t ever do that again, even if you extend the invitation first. Kurloz had been an intriguing possibility, but you are not sure of what you could hold on him and you feel like there is a pit there that for now, you will avoid. And you don’t trust him to not chucklevoodoo _you_ as well as Kankri. You’re both lowbloods and you might be Witch of Time but the Makara is Prince of Rage.

Latula then. You didn’t want to go any warmer, you really did want to find someone of a coldish blood type to fill your kismesis’ nook. And you know it will hurt him. Maybe it will be the type of hurt that will finally, _finally_ see him grow out of this stunted almost wigglerhood. Catharsis and agony. You want to see him suffer, but you need him to be start contributing to this kismesissitude in a more active way. Instead of just...being hated, making you hate him. You know he hates you too, but. This isn’t healthy. For either of you. But you don’t want to give up your bucket toy either, you just want some sign that he’s as invested in this as you are, outside of how passively he lets you destroy him.

Latula. Latula. You are looking for Latula, instead of stewing over the dysfunction of your black quadrant and hating yourself for wanting to have a moirail to talk about it with. Who would have you as a moirail? You think Meenah has burned the pity out of you and you wouldn’t make someone take that burden on. You are broken. You are.

You.

Who would you even ask? No one would want you. You are the crazy bitch who flies into a rage at the littlest, tiniest undeserved thing. You kill trolls. You’re crazy, so crazy. You hate them all in the most platonic way.

“ヘイ！雌犬大きな口の!” You wave and smile. Latula flips her board with her foot on one hand and catches as it leaps into the air. She dips her glasses at you, smiling hugely and you don’t feel any regret for what you’re about to do at all. This. Is going to be fun. “空の脳ばか,” you say as though you’re asking her a question, making your lips form the welcoming expression of a smile. 

“Aw, c’mon, time piece! You know I ain’t got no understanding on of what you’re saying when you talk that whacked out lingo, Damz.” 

You want to plunge a needle through her eye until it is scraping around her thinkpan, but you need her co-operation. “Big surprise for you.” Want your bulge to ruin my kismesis. Want you to turn their world inside out. Want you to help me ruin spadebitch, they will hate you too but will hate me most. “ _Big_ surprise.” You make a beckoning motion with your finger, and can’t hold back your laughter as she makes an expression of intrigued shock, all pursed lip and raised eyebrow. “Sexy surprise, get your bulge all wet in something hot.”

“You know I got ‘Tuna all up in my heart space, you wouldn’t ask a rad girl to cheat on her bad boy,” she fusses, and you shake your head. Tick tock. As if you would ever ask anyone to feel the pain you felt. Inflict that on someone. This is. This is different.

“Black fun, no hearts,” you say, and you can tell that you’re showing your fangs aggressively, head tilting down a little to show your horns. You won’t give Kankri up to her, you just want him to. Do something. You relax your expression because she’s giving you a little bit of a funny look, and smile more peacefully. “Spade lost bet.”

“Oh, you filled your black quadrant? Hand up high, gimme some skin, sista! That’s wicked bitching!”

Begrudgingly, you hold your hand up to be slapped and hold back your wince. She’s stronger than she looks, the teal blood. Good. You want her to wreck Kankri’s nook. Give him a taste of that highblood bulge he’s been longing for since Beforus ended. Make him squirm, make him weep later for the memory of just how much of a whore he is. How much he is really like everyone else, any other troll.

“So, what do you want me to do?”

Urrrgh, you don’t know why everyone thinks you’re the stupid one just because you speak the common language badly. You speak your own language just _fine_. “Fill spade’s nook with highblood bulge,” you purr, and wink one eye exaggeratedly at her. Purse your lips, run a tongue over the bottom one, tasting your lipstick. She looks intrigued despite herself, and you wonder if she’s tired of being something like a lusus to her matesprit. There’s a lot pity can take on, but eventually it has to be wearing. “Big fantasy for my hatepartner. Hates it, hate me _more_ when spade’s finished being bucket.  彼はあなたのペニスの周りに良い感じになります, 約束します. I winner, they _loser_ , I show spade how much loser.”

“Seems kind of mean, pocket watch.”

If you ripped out her throat and drove needles through her eyes, no one would know the difference. Why is she passing up an easy pail and being so difficult about this? “Kismesissitude, gamer girrrrrrl. Why, you never feel pitch for some troll? Hate me _so much_ for this, I am know. Make pailing better later.” You smirk, cock your head a little and put a hand on your hip. “Spade know I getting highblood to fuck loose nook. Such whore, you no idea.  空洞と空腹. Hatebitch love it.”

She’s chewing her lip, thoughtful, and you just want to drag her there by her stupid hair, you could make her come with you but you want her in a good mood. Not angry; not angry at you anyway. “Mmmkay. But I’m gonna bail if I don’t like the feel of it, you hearing me, grrrl?” That’s fine, you can work with that. Nobody could resist Kankri’s sopping candy nook, you’re pretty sure of it. So red and wet, just completely fuckable. And it’s going to be the first thing she sees when she enters your hive, you’ve set your whole scene up before you left.

“Sure, 問題ない! You see when we get to my hive, my spade is all ready to be pail.”

Latula kind of laughs, makes a little grossed out face but now she’s walking with you, her wiggler-toy held under one arm as you lead her across the bubblescape to the memory of your hive. You enter the fakey forest, your memories of the Lost Weeaboos making it something like what it had been on Beforus, and then come to your tree. You wish sometimes you could go back, but you are different now and you can’t use time that way to reverse everything that has happened to _you_. You tried that; it had just made you look even crazier to the trolls who had been your friends.

“Up. You ok for climb?”

“Sure, I guess! I forgot you lived up a tree, chronotrigger, but I’m always up for a challenge.”

“Is easy; rad girl like you have no problem. あなたは私を産ん.” You swing yourself up the nailed in boards that lead the way up the trunk of your hive-tree, climbing easily despite the block-toe of your loafers. This is something you have done so many times. Your skirt swings back and forth above your knees as you clamber up and you hope Latula likes the sight of your panties. You’re wearing bright red in honour of your kismesis, and you plan to show him them soon. Does Latula have any idea who your spade could be, who’s finally slotted into your black quadrant? Probably not, you doubt it; you don’t think anyone could guess that Kankri has given up his vows for the sake of loathing-fuelled fucking.

Outside the closed entry portal, you pause and look at her seriously. “Secret, ok?” you purr, putting one hand against her chest. Right between her rumblespheres; yours are bigger. But Latula has nice ass and thighs, you can admit that. “Humiliate is desire, yes, but. Not. Ruin? わかりますか？ Big secret.”

Something about the seriousness in your tone seems to get to her and she nods. “Pinkie-swear, Damara. I won’t go spilling the beans.” Her smile is back in an instant, and you smile slow back at her. She is in for such a surprise. So is Kankri, he is going to be a ruin of desire. “So open the door, show me the shizzak in your hizzy.”

You can only hope that she talks less when she pails, or that she makes more sense. Shrugging, you open the door and go inside ahead of her. You’ve gone too far to turn back now. “ただいま!” Maybe some time, you will tie up Kankri by the door to wait your return, on his knees and considering how well he’s taken to the human self-pail device, something up his nook. Just to wait for you. “You like toy, slut?”

Your only answer is a low warbling trill, and you take off your shoes, leave them at the door. Kind of awestruck and staring blankly at your kismesis lying tied across a stool on his back with his nook exposed, Latula does the same when you gesture sharply at her. No dirt in your hive from filthy outside shoes. In bare feet, you pad across the smoothed wooden floor to where your kismesis is lying tied, and you run your fingers across his cheek, stroke his brow. He’s drooling. It’s kind of magnificent, you’ve never seen Kankri this speechless, this beyond words before.

“私はあなたの贈り物を持っています,” you murmur, and let out a low laugh. You’re smiling so hard your cheeks hurt, and he’s still lost. Hasn’t guessed at the skater chick’s presence yet, and she is yet to open her squawkblister. The mutant chirps at you, low thrumming chirr of mating arousal, concupiscent desire. You bend down so you can whisper in his aural sponge, run your tongue along his gray adolescent chitin. “ _I found you a highblood for your gaping nook, Kan~kri!_.” 

“You, Dam-ARA!” You bite him and your fangs sink into his ear deep enough you taste his blood, his hips buck, his fingers tighten and you’re sure another wave of geneslime just came pulsing out his nook. Red, red as hearts, red as candy, freaky red, mutant red. Pretty, pretty red. “Ahh, hhnn, aahh...”

“See, he ready for be pail,” you say dismissively, and stroke his sweaty hair, along his horns until he’s mindlessly chirring for you. It is a much better noise to be coming out of his noisechute than what usually does. He’s gasping, his bulge moving in slow insistent coils against his stomach, trapped under the cloth of the hilarious leggings he insists on wearing. You’ve ruined this pair at least, you don’t think he could ever explain to Porrim just how and why they came to be cut right _there_. Sliding your fingers into his mouth, you press down on his tongue and simulate the writhing pressure of a bulge. He chokes. He really shouldn’t, he should be used to much larger things forcing their way down his throat by now. “Give whore nook that highblood bulge.”

“You’re, uh, you’re looking a little creepy there, Megido,” Latula says doubtfully, and you try to tone back your triumphant grin. It kind of hurts your cheeks. It’s a hot nasty mess of pitch inside your thorax, hot as molten slag. It burns. Trolls say pitch is cold, is dark, is hard and hating but your hate is like a fire that incinerates everything inside you. You burn. You chirr softly, and rub your cheek along the side of Kankri’s, his face upside down to yours, looking up at Latula with your eyes half-lidded and smirk. You think she’s interested despite herself. She must have been a little interested in some strings free pailing, a no obligation fuckhole, otherwise why did she follow you.

“売春婦はあなたを待っています. 彼は空のバケツです.” You take your fingers out of his mouth and slip around his body so you can remove the toy. It whirrs in your fingers, blunt end of the thing still mindlessly questing and you turn it off before you throw it aside. You can clean it properly later. You lean across Kankri’s body and push his hips back down against the stool, before letting your hand fall to his nook. Spread it. He’s a mess of candy red slurry along his legs, it’s dripping on your floor and you wonder how hard it’s going to be to get out. Maybe you will leave it. For memories. “See? Slurrydump is aching for bulge. See how empty he is, shame stick not good enough. Is not true, Kankri?”

“You –nngh, Damara, you are the worst kind of bitch!” Kankri hisses and you giggle to make sure he gets even angrier. So filthy mouthed. No more high-mindedness, no carefully constructed torrent of softly condescending words when his nook is pulsing and hungry for bulge. You love wrecking him and you just laugh delightedly as for once, he struggles against the ropes. This is just what you wanted! “Yes! Yes, you win, _yes_ , I want it, fuck you, fuck you, FUCK you, you heinous wench!”

“Yesssss, Kankri! 頑張って!” you say mockingly, voice rising in a breathless exhortation for him to try harder, sarcastic mimicry of a cheerleading section in a sports anime. Do better, rancid wastechute. This is more like it. You look at Pyrope and smile nastily, she’s spellbound. Her rad shades threaten to fall right off her useless nose, she’s pulled them down so far so she can feast her greedy eyes on the sight you’ve given her to see. “See? I know my spade. So mouthy, such bitch, needs highblood bulge right up mutant nook. So hot, your cock will melt.”

Your fingers dip inside and rub, and he arches and the mating warble he lets out has her bulge unsheathe so you can see it through her clothes. “Oh man, I ain’t ever seen Kanks lose his cool like this.” She steps closer, and you nod. Smile. Nod, nod, nod, smile. Like encouraging an animal, letting her convince herself that she wants in on that. It helps that Kankri is secretly nothing more than a whore and currently writhing on your fingers like the star of a concupiscent propaganda film. Latula touches his thigh, and you know you’ve won, that it’s only a matter of time. If she objected so much, she would have left. She definitely would have left before touching him. “You really wanna play a pail here, Vantas?”

“Yes, yes, ‘Tula, _please_ , I can’t,” Kankri sobs, and twists on the table as you rotate your hand so your fingers are right up against his shameglobes. Mm. Yes. Very good. He should be like this as often as you can tie him down, make him speechless, remind him that he is a troll, and that he is a worthless slurryhole of a failure. That speech making and pretty talk is all very well in its own place, but it does not solve many problems or make anyone feel better in the end. Everything that spouts out of the windchute that he’s confused with his wastechute is useless shit.

“娼婦. あなたはコックを充填することにしたいです.” You lick your lips and taste the plastic of your lipstick, before drawing your fingers out. Licking them clean to replace plastic with cherry, you smile at Latula. Although, she’s not looking at you, she’s focusing on Kankri and running her hand up and down the inside of his leg as he chirps almost mindlessly. Good, excellent. You are so pleased, and you’re finding it hard to keep your triumphant grin in check. When Kankri is not maddened from his need for orgasm, he is going to lose it. You wonder if he will cry like a grub missing their lusus. “Go for it, rad girl. See? All slick and ready for bulge. Fill him with your icy tentacle. あなたは、すべての愚かです.”

Moving out of the way with a small flip of your skirts, you watch as she lifts her tunic, pushes down the black leggings that outline her powerfully muscled skater thighs. A teal coloured bulge squirms out and you let your fingers trail through Kankri’s mess of hair as she steps between his forcibly spread thighs. The eagerly questing bulge with its diamond-shaped tip squirms across Kankri’s skin, and you look down to watch his face. You want to see his expression as the coolblood’s long bulge works its way up into him, deep inside that red hot nook. It’s longer than yours, but your rustblood bulge is thicker. Some trade off, you suppose, he won’t find that this one stretches him quite so well.

Latula hisses in surprise and you watch as Kankri’s eyes widen and he lets out this absolutely appalling chirr. It’s something primal and so _degrading_ , you find yourself making a low crooning growl. It’s not a purr. 

_It is not a purr_.

“あなた ホット 厄介な ゴミです,” you tell him, and rub your thumb over his cheek. He’s out of it, he’s gone. He’s not quite at orgasm and you reach under your skirt to pull down your panties and let your bulge have free play. With a push of your fingers against the underside of his chin, you tilt his head back and feed your slurry-leaking worm down between his lips and it crawls its way inside his throat. Hot, nice, tight. You feel him gag and swallow, and you let out your own rising trill of satisfied black pleasure as Latula gasps, her mouth opening in an O of abandonment.

Everything in your pusher beats slag and fire, beats black pitch, molten and oozing. You are so full of hate for Vantas you want to turn him inside out so you can find new things to hate about him, things you haven’t seen before. Tear down his every excuse, shatter his arrogance, shut his prideful mouth and make him actually see what true prejudice looks like, what it means, how it has been to _be_ you, to have seen and felt the things you’ve felt. You will rip him to pieces until he grows into something better, something stronger. Fights you back the way you know he could.

You hold onto your kismesis’ shoulders and let your bulge roil and writhe down his throat, biting your lip until rust is running down your chin. Filling up your mouth. Watching Latula wreck Kankri’s shit with her chilled out bulge is pretty good, it’s not a bad sight at all to see how his bulge is straining to escape the confines of his clothes while the teal mercilessly rides him to her own climax. Black as spades, everything about this.

“Oh wow, you weren’t even kidding about this shit being off the hook,” the rad girl rasps out as her cold bulge wrecks the mutant’s red candy nook. You grin, she’s got it, finally, she’s got some kind of understanding in her empty thinkpan. It has taken her long enough. “Shiiiit, it feels like I’m gonna burn it off in him. This is mad sick, bitch.”

“See? Told you,” you say and just manage not to chirr incomprehensibly in a haze of mating urge. You’re the mistress of words, it is you. “Nook like furnace; hot enough for me, must be heaven for you.” You’re not going to last at this rate, not watching how enthusiastically Latula has taken to pitchfucking the nook of the mutant who’s had a not so hidden flushcrush on her for sweeps. You don’t want to hurt her except in the way you wish everyone could feel an abyss inside them the way you do, but. You want to destroy Kankri and she’s acceptable collateral damage for you.

By now, your hatefriends should have all learned just how far down you’ll drag them if they let you in.

Digging your claws into the skin of your kismesis, you draw blood and his body twitches between the pair of you. Latula lets out a warbling croon and then you watch her face as she closes her eyes and you know she’s filling the sweet nook of your spade with cool teal slurry. You wonder what sort of colour it’s going to make, teal and bright candy red. You can’t wait to see. You just get a sort of rust when you fill him up with your own; you’re betting on some sort of purpley mess. You rub your nook over his face and gasp, not wanting to come yet but you’re so close. Pulling out, you spill burgundy slurry over his face and watch as it runs down into his hair. Not the full load yet but enough to stain his mouth and slide down his cheeks as he gasps for breath.

Latula is lying on top of Kankri, her bulge still jammed up inside him and playing idly with the edge of one of his grubscars. He’s whining gently, and you smile, play with his slurry-slicked hair and kissed his forehead softly, with all the contempt you feel for him in every inch of your pusher. “Here, pail,” you tell her and pull a black official filial pail out of your sylladex, throw it over and she catches it out of the air. “Want to keep some of Kankri’s nasty mess off my floors.”

“Mm, yeah. I guess you would! It’s some kind of sick nasty mess over here,” Latula laughs, and starts to pull back after she’s jammed the pail in under the edge of the stool. You rub Kankri’s hornbeds almost viciously and he croons, the shape of his bulge still lazily seeking out something under the belly of his stupid armpit high leggings. Mmm, he’s so far gone. You can’t wait to watch him fall apart. “Oh man...this is really...wow.”

“Pretty colour,” you purr, as she pulls out completely and staggers over to your chair as you stand between Kankri’s thighs to take her place. Bluh, teal slurry on your cushions. You’re too eager to complain too much, and your bulge slithers into the mutant’s already soaked nook with a sickening squish sort of sound, more slurry draining into the pail. Some of it anyway, a lot of it has gotten all over your floor. What a whorish mess. “あなたは完全まだですか ? Like it, Kankri?” He moans and you giggle, taking hold of his hips. He really is a little fatty grub, so soft and plush, you love sinking your claws deep into his cushioning rolls around his hips and waist. “もっと, もっと, あなたはそれをしたい私に言います!” 

You put your hand on his belly and trap his squirming bulge while yours writhes and wriggles its way deeper inside him, as you chew your lower lip and watch his face. He’s gone. So gone. You really need to drug him with some nip and see just what happens to him; you’ve never seen Kankri indulge in anything. All you want is to see him lose control. You rake your fingers down his sides and he arches with a crooning warble of frustrated arousal, your claws drag ruptures into the cloth of his leggings. They’re far beyond redemption now, ripped, slashed and soaked in three kinds of slurry. 

“ブーブー, ブーブー! さあ、子豚.” You curl your tongue along your teeth and grip his bulge in one hand through the cloth of his leggings. Stroke it, and he wails and you can feel the flood of biomaterial soaking down along your bulge, driving you into making your own chirruping trill as you let loose of your own load. Rust and candy red mix with teal as you slowly pull away, your bulge deflating and withdrawing as he makes useless chirps from his protein chute, muscles lax and his face still aimless. Blissful.

You hate him. You hate him. You hate him _so much_.

Panting, you put one hand on the stool and look sideways at Latula. “Do you want ablutionblock, or get out?” Get out is your preferred option of the two. She seems to catch your undercurrent, and gets to her feet hurriedly. Maybe she’s not quite as stupid as you thought she was.

“Ha, well it’s been a blast, Damz! Um. Alright, I’m gonna go. Get out of your hair.”

She points to the door like her fingers are pistolkind, and you watch her go with unfriendly eyes. Now you’ve gotten what you wanted, you want her _out_ of your hive. Gone. Good. Good. You wanted her to leave. Now you just need to clean her teal slurry out of your cushions and your spade.

You untie your kismesis and massage feeling back into his limbs and then drag him up to his feet, putting one of his arms over your shoulders and your arm around hiss waist. “Come on, bulgeslut, you heavy fat,” you tell him, and then drag him into your ablution trap, dripping the muddied slurry every step of the way. He’s slurring something, but you pay no attention as you step into the trap with him, both of you clothed and turn it on.

Putting him up against the wall of the trap, you let him slide down slowly and then start to remove your clothes. Your shirt is plastered to your rumblespheres, and you peel it from your skin, throwing it out. Your skirt soon follows it, and then your heftsack holster, your panties. You ignore Kankri, and let the water rush the slurry away from between his thighs and reach for your bar of cleansing bubblecake.

Washing, you run the bubblecake up and down your arms, along your stomach until the rust slurry is wiped off your skin. And those little traces of teal and candy red. Looking down at your kismesis, you purse your lips. He looks so. Ugh. What a slob. You should just leave him here, or just throw him out like this, sopping wet and still leaking slurry from his nook. You hate him. Why shouldn’t you do that to him?

Kneeling, you start to wash his hair clean of your slurry. His mouth is slack, his face looks dazed, despite the lack of expression in his white eyes. Dead. Why do you even care if he manages to become a proper rival? It won’t change anything, both of you are still dead. There is nothing for either of you, nothing will ever change. Sometimes you wish that Meenah had not succeeded in keeping you in this limbo, while you waited for someone else to win the game.

“あなたはとても愚かです. 莫迦. あなたが大嫌い.”

You keep washing his hair, and cup his face as he almost abruptly gasps and then starts to cry. You’ve destroyed him and it doesn’t feel as good as you thought it would when you were thinking about it. Now you’re trapped inside your ablutions block, in your refreshment cascade cubicle, and your kismesis is sobbing and something hurts inside you when what you should feel is triumph. It shouldn’t be like this.

When he punches you in the face, you lick the blood of your teeth and you grin as he finally gives you the snarling pitch you deserve. Pulls your hair and smashes his mouth on yours and you yelp, and bite him back, straddle him in the bottom of the ablutiontrap and everything is fine again. Triumph overtakes the sour nasty feeling in the bottom of your stomach – it worked! 

“Yes, hate me!” you hiss, and he snarls, rakes at your face with his claws and it is the most expression you have ever seen from him. The most pure hate. He’s sobbing out angry words and you’re bleeding and it is wonderful. You grin through your mask of rust blood leaking from where he’s clawed your face, and shake your head so that water and blood spray the inside of your ablutiontrap, just like a woofbeast shaking itself off. “You disgusting spouter of shit, _do something real_!”

“You are the worst, the _worst_! How could you bring Latula, I, you knew exactly what you were doing, what you’ve done! You vile bitch! You are so inherently problematic, and you – you – what you’ve done! You knew how I felt!”

“You like it, I never before seen you spill so much slurry out of slut nook.” You kiss him again, and it is almost sweet, your fangs in his lip and his hands have found your hips. You can feel a stir of renewed interest under your ass and you wiggle meaningfully. “Such slut for bulge you are.” You bite his ear and he groans, and then he pushes you over backwards, you shriek and push up at him to no effect. You’re trapped underneath him as the hot water pelts down over you both, water sliding down your rumblespheres and your hair is a mess, a tangle as you purse your lips at him mockingly.

“I _loathe_ you,” he tells you and something stirs in your pusher, you adore that agonized look on his face. Like he’s about to do something he knows he’ll hate himself for later, and you want to make him do it. You arch your hips and roll up against him, your own bulge wriggling out between your stomachs. You are not, absolutely not expecting the red-hot tip of his bulge to crawl up your thigh and then inside your nook. “I h-hate you, you’re so _disgusting_!”

“Still want all up in my nook now, don’t you, Kankri?” You run your nails down his shoulders as he starts to move, gasping as your insides burn as the thick length of his bulge moves inside you. Squirming its way deeper, inside the first nook it’s ever been inside. Maybe he doesn’t quite know what to do with it, but it still feels good. The heat! Rufioh had been just a little colder than your own blood, although still warm, but Kankri is hot as lava inside you. “You disgusting too. You just troll, just like everyone else! C’mon, lover, fuck me good, fill me up like bucket, _have revenge_ , you love it, so nasty, such dirty troll bitch.”

He grabs your hair, you kiss him and bite his lip so hard your teeth draw blood, even as blunt as they are. You lock your thighs around his sides as he fucks you, both of you bleeding, sweating, cursing at each other hatefully. You want to destroy him, you want him to destroy you, supernova, mutually assured destruction. Kaboom. You rake your claws down his back and rip up the edge of his leggings that he still has on, your tongues tangle in each other’s mouths. He keeps telling you how much he hates you while he fucks you, his bulge coiled deep inside and knocking up against your seedflap, your genematerial sack.

It’s glorious, it’s perfect, you’re laughing in his face until he’s almost skreeeing in frustration at how much you’re unaffected by his bulge in you. You’re lying, it’s so hot, it’s as hot as your pitch, it burns inside you and it feels so good. You tell him he’s small, that his bulge is not even as good as Rufioh’s, that he can’t fuck you like a real troll could because he’s only a freak, that he won’t make you cum, he’s so bad at sex, but you know you’re enjoying it. And from the way your bulge is twining between your bellies, you’re sure he knows that too.

“Get off, get off!” you hiss as you feel him tensing above you, striking at his shoulders, trying to get a knee in his stomach. This you will not do, no, he is your bucket and it is not the other way around. You twist and you hit your horns on the tiles of the ablution trap, it makes your thinkpan ring and you freeze for a moment, shocked into immobility. He doesn’t. He just trills in arousal and usually you would love to hear that sound, but not with his bulge sphincter-deep inside your nook. “I not your bucket, horsefaced bitch! GET OFF!”

“I think this time, Damara, you will be, it is no less than you deserve. Turn about is only fair,” he gasps above you and you skreeeee indignantly with all your strength as he gasps and shudders, you feel his red hot candy red slurry gush into your nook. Your seedflap opens, lets it in so it’s a heated weight in your belly and you groan as he shivers above you, bulge lazily pumping more and more of it inside you. “Oh fuck, Damara, oh that’s so good, it feels so...”

“I kill you, skullfuck your empty pan with my sexworm once I remove your head,” you promise him in a steely voice, then gasp as his hand finds your bulge. You smack at his shoulder, his head and kick wildly. “No, off!” He works you over clumsily and too hard, not even used to masturbating himself and you feel yourself chirring, chirping as he beats you for the first time, makes you cum with your genesack full of his slurry in a heated bump inside your guts and ruins you like a kismesis should. Like you wanted him to.

Panting now, you’re both a slack puddle of troll dipped in red and rust slurry on the bottom of the ablutions trap, a little blood mixing with it.

“Don’t ever do that to me again, Damara.”

You snuggle into his body and purr, nook aching and pleased with everything you’ve accomplished today. Latula will never look at him again, not in a concupiscent way, you’re quite sure of that. He’s all yours. All yours to hate and cherish. You hope that this new confidence and ability to fight you isn’t something temporary. You’re not sure what else you could do to make him be a proper kismesis.

“Might change mind, want to try for Royal V bulge next? _Frills all along_ , feel good tickling your shameglobes,” you croon into his ear and he smacks your thigh in reprimand. His descent into a tirade about the sexualisation and exploitation of the coldest classes only makes you yawn. With the warm shower water beating over you and his hot mutant body lying on top and against yours, it isn’t too bad in the bottom of the trap. 

You had better get a chance to get used to this new side of Kankri, or you really will skullfuck him for disappointing you so much.


End file.
